Forever Harry
by chicaalterego
Summary: Harry was not taking the whole 'immortality thing' very well. It was the Hallows' fault he couldn't die, he was sure, and the Hallows were created by magic which kept him alive through the apocalypses of his world and the genesis of this one. Trying to stop his fate to befall on another, he prevents magic for flourishing... And yet, there was the immortal Muggle Henry Morgan.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP or Forever.

**AN:** To the readers of my other fics. Sorry I'm writing this one while ignoring the others, but I had to take it out of my chest before anyone could beat me to the punch.

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><p><span>Chapter 0: Forever Harry.<span>

Life goes on, even if humans stop moving. You could stand still as much as you like, but time won't ever stop to take a breath. Life passed by, and it never waits for you. Yes, you cannot run away from Death. Not unless, of course, you are able to master the force that is meant to put a dot at the end of every tale.

Death is impossible to avoid forever, you might say; I certainly hope that's the case. If it isn't, if it turns out I'm the black swan that proves the rule wrong, I will continue to be… forever.

My name is Harry James Potter, the only wizard on this Earth, the only survivor of the end of the previous world. My Earth, the one in which I was born, the Earth of Voldemor, Hogwarts, and everything else, exist no longer.

My home world died. And, from what was left of it, a replica of the original was born. There is not much difference between this world and the last, the sky being the same azure blue, the clouds the same puffy white and the earth being the same pile of dirt as I remember.

Even humanity managed to evolve from the monkeys as it did the first time around… or, at least, what I think it was the first time around; after all, given that history repeated itself with such a frightening similarity to what I know of my first world, I dare say that all existence is trapped in an eternal loop. It will never stop being permanently. It would just reset itself over and over.

I hope my believes are proved wrong; because, if I'm right about the rebirth of worlds, it means there isn't an end. I might go completely bonkers if I do.

Maybe I already am.

I let out a long suffering sight as the sun came out and I found myself alive yet another morning. Pointless as it was, I found myself wishing I could go back and stop my younger naïve self from getting all the Deathly Hollows to stop the slaughter Voldermort was planning.

In hindsight, It was rather stupid of me, really. All the people I "saved" died anyway, only just a little bit latter than they would have at the hands of the Death Eaters. If it was fated they all would die anyway, why did I even bother? Every human was meant to perish in about a mere century, so why did I even care to begin with?

I wasted my time playing hero; or rather, I wasted the chance for my time to come to an end. Now I'm trapped. Paying the ultimate price for my naivety: immortality. So long I've lived that I have lost hope of ever dying.

Not only the hope of dying, I lost any and all types of hope, to be honest. And yet… unexpectedly I found a reason to get out of my bed without feeling as completely bored of my existence.

The reason's name: Henry Morgan.

I discovered this man by chance, as I looked for things out of place in the world; things of magical nature.

Ever since I woke up in the primitive sea of this world, I took it up to me to make sure magic never had a chance to bloom. For, If it did, someone might repeat the feat of creating objects that grant immortality —as I saw this world's Perevell Brothers almost accomplish, proving it was not Death who made the Hallow as Beetle the Bard once sung.

I killed the Pervell Brothers as they tried enchanting the 3 objects of legends, but I knew objects of the same sort, with the same kind of power still might be brought to existence. Which is why I gathered any half-build magical items and burned them along with their makers, their families…

I was doing those wizards a favor when I killed them, really. I saved them each and every one of my kin to potentially share my fate. Therefore, I did the right thing by getting rid of them all. No wizard was left standing. No wizard would ever be born without me hunting them down.

Merlin never became a legend.

Albus Dumbledore never got old enough for his eyes to twinkle.

Cedric Gryffindor never grew to meet the other founders, and Hogwarts was never to be.

Although no magic society ever got the chance to be formed this time around, magic itself was quite hard to get rid of. It keeps up turning Muggles into Muggleborn wizards. Wizards I made sure to get rid of, it being my purpose in life.

Then how —I find myself wondering— _how_ did Henry Morgan became an immortal? It doesn't make any sense for him to have done so: There were no complicated spells, or dangerous trinkets, or crazy divination teachers webbing around unavoidable premonitions.

So maybe…

could it be?

Could it be that I have been wrong all this time?

Wasn't the Hollows the ones that made me what I am?

If it wasn't because of magic —for this man was no doubt a Muggle— not, then what caused me to be what I am?

It seems like I knew less about my condition that I thought it did.

Curious, and half-expecting to find an answer if I knew more about Morgan's situation, I began to watch over him. It soon became obvious that he was a fool, or at least a man too full of hope to be an immortal. And the fact he still seemed to care about humans kept me wondering for hours and hours about his capability to never lose faith... or maybe he was being delusional, thinking himself a human still?

One way or another, Henry Morgan was intriguing, to say the least. A shiny new toy that promised to never break.

I would bid my time with this one.

Using a long since learned hacking skill -something thanks to having all the time in the world instead of because I had any talent- I looked over Henry Morgan's past, discovering several identities and other names he had donned on the century -something he clearly had to rely on since he had no magic.

Getting any data on Henry before the relatively modern times was hard to come across, though, since the computers took some time to be invented. However, once the digital era cropped closer, it was easier to find out tidbits about his live…

"Mister Potter," A female voice came from out of my apartment's door, an unnecessary knock following right after.

"Give me a minute!" I called out from my bed, not at all surprised that the tenant's daughter had come to bother me yet again. She was an insistent sixteen years old that resembled Hermione in every way but having a brain... or magic.

To be honest, the only reason I have remained in this country for two months more than I originally intended is because of this Hermione Granger. After all, her being the very same girl with the very same name made the chances of her being a witch quite high. Funnily enough, she was a Muggle, and my keeping an eye on her as she walked down the street at night was the sole reason I met Henry. I remember that night quite clearly. She was going to the grocery shop and was pulled into the alley next to an antique shop. She screamed, and a black-haired man ran out of the local, following the source of the noise. A moment later the girl ran out of the alley covered in blood. She was panicking, and never once looked back as her savior stumbled out to the street and fell moments before vanishing in thin air in a way that was completely familiar to me.

I froze on the spot, knowing without being told that this man was getting reborn in the sea. Not missing a beat, I flew into the night sky wrapped into a notice-me-not charm, I went straight back to the building and landed at the entrance just in time to see Hermione arrive there. She was a slobbery sobbing mess, but no blood was on her.

She ran to me frantically asking for help and I obliterated her. She was annoying enough without the trauma.

I obliterated Henry too, though it was for a different reason: I didn't want him running away to another country to keep his secret safe.

Pushing the thoughts aside, I focused back into the present. I needed to greet Hermione II, whi still waited for me outside. So,taking a round pair of glasses, I stood up from the bed. The thin metal soon rested in its usual spot over my nose, it slipped a bit as always, and I put it back into place as a reflex with what could be considered a nerdy gesture. I stopped in front of a slightly dusted mirror, and my ever green eyes looked back at me from under my untamable black hair, fashioned to cover my once-famous thunder scar.

It was almost depressing how I continued to look like the same seventeen years old who once stood fearfully rising his Phoenix Wand against Great Britain's snake of a Dark Lord. My looks were quite inconvenient too, since being "baby-faced" could only spare me raised eyebrows if I claimed to be reasonably under 30.

25 was as far the oldest I have ever claimed being.

I eventually made it to the door.

"Finally! I was starting to think you had died with how long you were taking," the girl joked airily as I stood face to face with her, and I smiled in response resisting the urge to smash her skull against the metal veranda of the stair. She might be Hermione's doppelganger, and I sort of owed her one since it was thanks to her I found about my fellow immortal, but there was only so much I was willing put up with. Corny jokes —even unintentional ones— were something that got me quite irritated. I was way too old to be patient anyway.

"Sorry," I apologized insincerely, but convincingly enough, "How might I help you?"

"I brought your mail," she offered me a manila folder. "I hope it doesn't bother you. I was going to pick up mine, and since we life on the same floor…" She trailed skittishly and I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes.

"Thanks," I took the offered item and peeked in right away. Pictures of a beautiful blonde with cherry lips was dancing with Henry Morgan. The picture looked innocently enough, or at least it would to anyone unable to figure out the implications of having the ravenette look the exact same now that he did at the end of World War II.

"See you around," I declared abruptly, closing the door on her face before she attempted any chitchat. I had to warp this little present to dear Doctor Morgan. After all, I'm pretty sure he doesn't have too many pictures of his sweet deceased wife.

Yes, a friendly gesture from me to you, Henry. A little something to make you know I'm around, closer than you might think.

With a small true smile I caressed the face of the blond in the picture. Now all that was left was a matter of presentation for this little present... a presentt; a box wrapped with a beautiful bow would be so fitting. I summoned a fitting little box and a ribbon, levitating the contents of the envelope to the box, also including a bit of silk paper for effect.

It was almost done, but something was still missing...

A simple white cardboard showed itself invitingly. I took it and, with a very practiced calligraphy I signed whimsically: "From your secret admirer".

I almost let out an evil cackle, but ended up settling for a crocked grin. '_Let the chase begin'_.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Aaand, it's done. I'm telling anyone who reads this: this is a oneshot, BUT I might put on something more as Adam keep up leaving crumbles in the TV show. Please leave me a review ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Forever now Harry Potter.

Note: I will be starting to make small modifs to the character Adam now that Harry is the immortal in this fic; meaning, the discrepancies on the background of Adam won't be the same (though I will probably use the canon way of Adam discovering Henry as soon as the chapter in which is revealed in my country). As a result, this **very sporadicly updated** fic will start diverging from cannon as it goes on. I don't know how far I will take it, but there will probably be at least one more chapter to this, so feel free to follow the fic latter.

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><p><span>Chapter 1. Awakening in the sea.<span>

It all started on yet another the day the world was supposed to end. Paranoia in the Muggle world ran high on those last days of the year 2000bc. Some people went as far as killing themselves before the Apocaliptic events that would unveil when 2001 started. It was odd for so many people to believe such a "prophesy", when there had been nothing hinting something huge happening beside the change of a digit in the calendar. It was just the Earth spinning around the sun yet another time.

It was plenty obvious that the bunch of paranoid superstitious never stopped to thing that the different time zones would make it impossible that the world would end simultaneously after the twelfth bell toll. It seemed like they almost WANTED the world to end. Fortunately for those with a death wish (or perhaps not so much) there was someone out there willing to grant said wish.

Nobody knew the name of the Dark Lord terrorizing England at the time, and, after such long a time, Harry couldn't bother to remember that particular detail. The only reason Harry remembered the wizard existed was because said dark wizard was the reason he was out there that nigh: the night he died... or rather, the night that he couldn't die.

Never before the tittle "The-Boy-Who-Lived" made such an eeary amount of sense.

He remembered the whole thing as if it where yesterday.

...

It was a beautiful night in England. The winter wonderland that the country had became was complemented with a pitch black sky peppered in stars that twinkled more than Dumbledore's eyes. All non-magical folk were celebrating by lighting up fireworks that boomed in the sky almost non-stop. The loud, festive music easily drowned the characteristic *pop*s of Apparition, the yells of joy were loud enough to hid yells of terror and the exploding powder in the sky could effectively hid anything short of a Bombarda Maxima.

All in all, it was the perfect night for an attack.

Which is precisely why the Aurors had been deployed all over the place, all of them being in high alert.

It was as the countdown began that the first of the "Judgement Saints" -A.K.A the new minions of the current Dark Lord- made it to the plaza. The battle that would start would give headaches to the Ministry of Magic for weeks: for thousands of spells were fired in the populated plaza.

It all went down to pandemonium. Dark Wizards shot curses while the Aurors rose up magic shields. The explosion of colors in the ground seemed to compete with that in the sky for several moments before the long green carpet on the ground was turned into a Portkey and zapped away all Muggles in the place along with it.

"Your plans have failed, give yourself in!" Harry Potter, the youngest Head Auror ever, demanded. The Judgement Saints didn't comply to the orders of the nineteen years old boy, instead choosing to Apparate themselves to safety... Only to discover that they couldn't. Harry had learnt his lesson after the end of the Battle of Hogwarts on the 98th: Allowing the bad guys to run away when they pleased meant the Aurors would have to spend an ungodly amount of time and resources to find and catch them, thus the anti-Aparition wards.

But the anti-Aparition wards didn't stop the cowards in the white cloaks from running away: those Judgement Saints that didn't dare fights tarted to flee.

Blurs of black and white ran down the snow-covered alleys under the night sky. Time was ticking, Aurors needed to make haste to catch the bad guys before they got out of the range of the guards keeping the fanatic murderers from Apparate away. Sweat poured down Harry's forehead like a waterfall as he dodged the eight Avada Kevedra of the night. The former seeker of Gryffindor's team easily sidestepped the green beam like it were a mere Bludger. A second latter the man was knocked out cold, and Harry used a shrinking curse to trap the man along seven others inside an unbreakable bottle.

Harry didn't pay any mind to the tiny unconscious men tossed inside the glass like fallen Jenga pieces, the Boy-Who-Lived simply kept on chasing after another target -a dirty, yellow-teethed wizard that could have been Flinch's taller twin brother- trying to catch him before he made it to the coastline.

It was then that things went to hell.

A dark-skinned Muggle was standing right on top of a dock, using the fire coming out of a barrel to keep his naked hands warm in the cold winter. The Judgment Saint Harry was pursuing smiled at the sight before looking back to Harry with a cruel smirk, and Harry knew, he just knew, what the man was about to do.

"Expellentis Aruspices!"

"NO!" Harry's instinct made him move forwards. Before the yellow beam had hit his mark, a meat-shield with a thunder-shaped scar in his forehead popped in front of the African-American.

They had been out of the of the range of the guards.

Harry's black cloak became a bloody mess as the Entrail-Expelling curse took effect. The repulsive dark wizard laughed to the sky gleefully before Harry used most of his remaining strength to blast his would-be-killer with a whatever spell came to his fuzzy mind.

Both wizards began to fell at the same time. And, as Harry's wobbly feet tripped with his own blood and spilled organs, he fell sideways to the water.

The last thing he saw before oblivion took him away was the pair of disturbing blueish-grey eyes of the man he had just saved, and the sea of blood that tainted the water enough to summon sharks ten kilometers away.

...

Hary woke up with a start. It had been a while since he had that dream. The gory images of his ultimate demise still fresh in his mind after the nostalgic nightmare.

Well, not his "ultimate demise" since it wasn't the last, and, if he was honest with himself, not his first time getting away from death... and yet, he couldn't help but counting it as his first: that time there had been no love-shield and no Horcrux to keeping him from facing the Next Big Adventure.

It never occurred to Harry that chasing the enigma that was Henry, who was in turn chasing some fifty-something years-old toddler playing mass murder would make his mind evoke the memories of a world away. Then again, said toddler had just gone his way to impersonate Jack the Ripper, and his first official death had been about as graphic as the case little-old Henry was chasing.

It didn't matter. Harry had gotten over his past a long time ago. He no longer was the man that brought down dozen of dark wizards and saved the world millions of times. He was no longer was the man that wielded the Hallows to make the world a better place. He had long stopped being the martyr that would keep away from the people he loved to become the worshiped savior and weapon of the light... And yet, he kept on being The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Fucking-die.

But above all, what Harry was now... was bored. And a bored Harry was good for nobody.

Harry paced inside of the little apartment he had intended to rent for only a month, before meeting Henry. Pale, callused hands slowly turned out the laptop he had built last year out of scrap metal. The self-made piece of technology was but a joke compared with what was accomplished by Muggles in his last world, but far more advanced that anything the ones of this one would be able to build in a century or so.

The screen lighted up to reveal the world "SEARCHING" in plain black letters as the machine piggybacked all cameras of the city -and several surveillance military satellites- while at the same time running a facial recognition program that would be able to place his fellow immortal most often than not. And, those times he knew not where Henry Morgan was using technology, he could find using magic.

He preffered the using the technology as a principle. After all, the only wand that had survived as long as he had was the Elder Wand, and he felt a speck of vengeful pleasure to ignore the stick that made him immortal... Not that he had solid proof that it was actually it that made him so, but after having his early life ruled by a prophesy made by his crazy old divination teacher, there was no questioning that something as ludicrous as "a tale from a children's book making him immortal" was entirely possible.

That was how much the universe loved to spit on Harry... Which is why he started to spit on the universe.

Feeling less vindictive against the Death Stick now that he considered other source than it being the potential reason of his condition (Henry was Muggle after all), he waved his hand, summoning the wand that he usually left gaining dust in a bank of Switzerland. The powerful Hollow sung like a phoenix, and Harry almost felt like throwing it to into the W.C. to drown the stick's happiness. He didn't, since it would always come back to him, and Harry wasn't particularly willing to touch and object once soaked in toilet water.

A magic screen floated in the middle of the air, and the most advanced technology of the room started malfunctioning -meaning, he could use that laptop no longer. Oh, well, he could build another one latter to pass the time if the mood struck.

Images flashed like a movie in the magic mirage. Henry's life was fun to watch. It was almost as good as it was seeing a TV show in which the main character was some sappy good guy, who was trying to find his place in the world.

Harry would find comical how Henry struggled against his phantom memories and cursed his immortality if Harry hadn't struggled and cursed a lot more than the Forensic.

Harry still thought it was a pathetic attitude to have.

Minutes passed and Harry kept on his daily surveillance, a hand itching to grab his cellphone and make a call to the Forensic. Still, he refrained: he had already called the man to hint that the newest psychopath he was after was going to impersonate The famous killer Black Dahlia, and shortly before that he had made another call just for the heck of it.

Seeing Henry Morgan hurry out of the scene of crime had been quite amusing, as it was seeing the man chase around the unfortunate writer around the library; so Harry was sure that yet another call would also prove to be entertaining. Even so, Harry shook the idea out of his head. It would not do to break his new toy so soon after he found him.

Henry might grow boring if he broke.

A pale hand closed the laptop and the search came to an end. As much as he loathed the idea of going out just yet, he had to. He had a fake persona to mantain.

Harry's new identity was something he would have scoffed at just a thousand years ago, but even the greatest of prides could melt with time -not that Harry's had been all that big to begging with. Harry's job was actually quite simple, and quite low pay. Nevertheless, being a a minimum wage worker in a fast-food restaurant had the great benefit of making him invisible.

Harry learnt quite fast that the lower on the food-chain (no pun intended) the less likely he would be noticed as he was. He had played the part of a illegal immigrant, of a janitor, of a chef's apprentice, and corpse cleaner, among others. Of course, he had also beein a great scientist, an inventor, a noble and even a god (for some emerging civilizations). However, even the perks of money weren't all that relevant when you have magic to cover all your needs and accomplish your every whim.

And so, Harry chose to work at a McDonald over putting a (minimal) effort and win himself a Nobel Prize.

Twenty five minutes after getting himself away from his computer, the immortal wizard was dressed from head to toe in well worn jeans and a simple white shirt. The only odd thing in the bespectacled man was the big, round clock that was tied to his wrist. In his hand there were two names -Harry's and Henry's- along with some other words where numbers were supposed to be. Harry ran a finger on top of the relic and smiled almost fondly. The tacky magical object was pretty much the same kind of that once could be found in the kitchen of The Burrow, before the damn building caved into himself when the great, great, great, kids of his two best friends lived there -killing the everyone inside, Harry included. It hadn't been a pleasant experience, but at that point in his life he had died enough times to shrug it off...

He cried for the red-heads' end, though. He was fairly young back then. He hadn't even gone over five hundred.

A wordless and wandless spell later the eye-catchy watch vanished under a disillusioning charm and Harry made haste: those hamburgers were not going to do themselves... Besides, certain antique shop was on the way to work.

TBC

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> I thank all the readers that wished for a continuation. I would say "I live to please", but I'm not enough of an hypocrite. I did, however, felt like I should put something up because some people really liked the first one, and this is a fandoom that has very little in it.

Random fact: There is a entrail-expeling curse in the HP universe. It is mentioned once, and you can look it in the wiki, but the wording of said spell is not specified -I looked the Latin translation of that.

Remember to review. And Merry Christmas :D


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